"It’s none of their business that you have to learn to write. Let them think you were born that way." – Ernest Hemingway

Sunrise in the Grand Canyon

First, it’s dark. And quiet. The night has had its way with the desert floor, its time has come to pass. The night creatures scurry back to their holes and dens in the cracks and crags of the rocky dry world they live in. Their time is done too for now.

Silently the world begins to change. Slowly in the East, the sky begins to lighten, the silence of the night broken by the first calls of morning birds, shouting their proclamation to the world that another day is upon us. From black to purpley pinky yellow, the sky begins to herald the arrival of the Sun.

Soon the first long fingers of sunlight reach forth, stretching across the the edges of the Canyon, lighting them afire with the warm glow from the first light of day. Slowly, tentatively, as if not to disturb the goings on in the desert below, the sun begins to reach down the walls of the canyon, lighting the caves and crevices, sending small rodents and lizard racing from the heat they know will soon come.

Morning dew glistens on cactus thorns, reflecting a perfect prism of the world in a single drop. As the sun climbs, flower blossoms, closed for the night cast open their petals to receive the glorious warmth of the Sun, bending and stretching their stems to reach up to light like hungry baby birds.